Where My Demons Hide
by NavyStrong42099
Summary: There was a long journey for each agent leading them to NCIS. Loss, hurt, tragedy- a want to be a good guy for once. Taking place all the way back to their childhoods, follow the agents of OSP before they were law enforcers in the major events of their lives.
1. Marty Deeks: Fall of a Father

**Author's Note:**

**Hello everybody! Well, the idea to write about the characters' pasts just popped into my head one day, so here we are. Each major character will get at least a few chapters of the major events in their life. Woo. Hope you enjoy and please review! As always, my penname is dedicated to my brother. As another note to the story- I will update at least twice a week for chapters devoted to one character, but will have a short break in between different characters. Rated T for some mature themes (such as child abuse) and some language.**

**-C**

* * *

**Marty Brandel**

**December 1983**

The Los Angeles sun was shining rather weakly on the December morning. For California residents, it was a morning to wear multiple layers and hope that the rest of the season held for warmer days. However, all the youth was concerned about was what the holidays would bring.

"Pedal Jaguar. You know, the convertible car you can ride around in?" Marty answered with a stupid grin. He hoisted himself up off the ground and settled on top of the monkey bars.

"That's what you want for Christmas?" Ray asked, trying to keep up with his friend. Although they were both six, he wasn't quite as big. "Doesn't it cost a lot of money?"

Marty frowned. "I'm sorry, Ray."

"It's okay." He shrugged. "I heard my mom say that our savings will last us a little while longer."

"We can share my presents," Marty suggested.

Ray shared a small smile with him. "Thanks, man. It's been kinda rough since Dad walked out."

Marty stuck out his hand and hauled him up on top of the monkey bars beside him. They watched as teenagers floated in and out of the tiny playground, most of them dealing drugs. Their hang-out was not entirely exclusively to the pair, but was hardly maintained and ignored by the people living in the area. It lay smack down in the middle of a trailer park populated by drunks, hippies, drug dealers…and people like Ray's family, who were just struggling to get by. Marty lived just on the outskirts of this trailer park, in a neighborhood of single-story, not-so-glamorous homes.

"I better get home," Ray sighed, jumping down from the monkey bars with a thump.

"Yeah, me too," Marty added.

They walked together back to the Martindale residence, where Marty could hear the drunken yelling of Ray's mother all the way outside. The blond took off running back home, excited to see his dad when he got home.

Marty threw open the door, searching for his parents.

"Mom? Dad?"

An eerie silence greeted him, slightly frightening the child. He heard a door slam suddenly and saw his father storming out from the house.

"Gordon. Gordon!" His mother called after the fleeing man.

Gordon John Brandel walked right on by as if his wife and son weren't there. Marty stood still, open-mouthed until the car's rattling engine had faded into the distance.

"What's wrong with Daddy?" Marty asked.

His mom kneeled down, looking a thousand years older than she was. Her bright blue eyes were swimming with sadness and above all worry. "You know how your dad works really hard at the factory?"

Marty nodded.

"Well, the factory is shutting down, which means that the company had to let go of him today."

He began to frown deeper and deeper. "So where is Daddy going now?"

Mrs. Annie Deeks-Brandel ran a gentle hand through his thick golden locks. "He's just letting off a bit of steam. Come on, I made your favorite for dinner."

"Fish tacos!?" Marty piped up and sprinted into the kitchen with his mother laughing after him.

He scrambled into a chair and inhaled half of a taco before his mother had a chance to wash her hands and settle down at the table with him.

"So, what do you want for Christmas this year?" She prompted him.

"Well," Marty started, bits of food flying from his unmannered mouth. "I wanted a Pedal Jaguar. But I can ask that from Santa instead."

She raised an eyebrow as some of the old humor began seeping back into her tired eyes. "Yeah? Do you think Santa's going to be that generous to you?"

He vibrantly bobbed his head. "I've helped Mrs. Lancaster take out her garbage almost every day! And I'm asking for two this year. I promised Ray I'd share my presents."

His mother pursed her lips in a fine line, the smile in her orbs gone. "I told you I don't want you around Ray's family."

"But mom, we weren't! We were at the playground!" Marty insisted. He grumbled, "It's not Ray's fault his dad left."

Mrs. Deeks-Brandel reached across the table and tried to lay her hand on top of his. Marty drew it away with a huff.

"Someday you'll understand," she whispered. "In a few years-"

"You always say that! I wanna be older _now_."

Marty scooted his chair away from the table and hurried off to his room. He jumped on the bed and buried his head in his pillows. Why couldn't everything go back to the way it was yesterday, when his mom was happier and Ray wasn't so glum? Exhausted from the day's activities, he nodded off to sleep.

* * *

Hours later, just past midnight, Marty was awakened by the shattering screams of his baby cousin and a yelling match between his parents. He rubbed his blue eyes, threw off his Transformers sheets, and silently peeked through the crack in his bedroom door.

"You blew a full day's wage on booze!" his mother berated with a shout. His father shouted some obscenities back at her, while Emily's cries intensified. Marty finally had enough of all the noise and dashed from his hiding place.

"Stop. Right. There."

Marty froze, his heart pounding. He turned to see his father approaching him menacingly. Gordon John Brandel was hunched over and slithered over like the monsters Marty read about in his comic books.

"What do you think you're doing?" He hissed, his breath reeking of alcohol.

Marty shrunk away. "Emily was crying."

"Gordon, you need to calm down," his mother begged. She put a hand on his shoulder, a very bad mood indeed.

His father lashed out, smacking her across the cheek and sending her sprawling to the floor with a cry.

"Mom!" Marty exclaimed and rushed to her side. He turned to his father. "You just hit mom!"

"Marty, go put Emily back to sleep. Now," his mom coolly dismissed him.

The six-year-old looked at her glowing cheek, and then to the man whom he used to call his role model. He ran from the living room as fast as he could.

* * *

The next morning was extremely quiet. Other than a few noises from Emily as Annie Deeks-Brandel fed her, there was no sound to be heard; Brandel was nowhere to be found.

Marty ate his scrambled eggs and toast in silence, watching his mother curiously. Eventually the quiet became too much, and he broke into a rant. "What happened last night!? Why did Daddy hit you? Where was he all day? Why was he being so mean!?"

"Honey, your father is a good person. However he can get very nasty when he has too much to drink."

"That's not going to happen again, is it?"

"I'm sure it's not," his mother replied absentmindedly. "Just finish your breakfast. I'm sure Ray wants to play with you this afternoon."

Marty did as he was told but knew something was wrong. Other than his father acting like a creature of another world last night, his mom was opposed to him hanging around Ray. She thought he was bad news. He had a very bad feeling about what was to come.

Instead of having fun with Ray, Marty busied himself by roaming the neighborhood, asking if anybody needed any chores done. He knew that his friend would see that something was wrong, and Marty didn't exactly feel like talking about it. Among taking out the trash and walking a few dogs (oh how he wished he had a dog), he wasn't able to distract himself from the situation at home.

As the sun began to set, Marty found himself walking home again. What a contrast to the day before when he was running home, now he tentatively reached for the handle. Before he could even turn it, he heard yelling and screaming from inside. The blond backed away from the door, trying to figure out where to run. He was about to flee to Ray's house when he thought better of it.

What if his dad hit his mom again?

Marty sighed, summoning up all the courage that the heroes he so idolized also possessed. He wanted to be just like them one day, which he couldn't do if he couldn't protect his own mother.

"I'm home!" He called, shutting the door behind him.

Marching feet accompanied his call as his father rounded the corner from the kitchen. The man's eyes seemed to be glowing red as they were yesterday.

"Where have you been?" He bellowed, a mixture of spit and alcohol flying from his lips.

Marty shied away from him. "I was with Ray."

"When you could have been helping around the house!?" His dad pinched his ear and dragged him into the kitchen. His mother turned away from the stove, her face one of horror.

"Ow, ow, ow!" He smacked feebly at Brandel's unforgiving grip.

"Gordon!" Annie exclaimed, moving to her son's side. She pulled him away from his father fiercely.

"You're worthless!" Brandel shouted with an accusing finger pointed at Marty. "Always moping around and complaining about every little thing! You don't know what a hard life is, but you're gonna find out! I don't know why we bother to keep you and that wretched baby around! Your aunt and uncle are lucky they died in that plane crash, then they wouldn't have to deal with any insufferable children!"

Marty's eyes were filling up with tears as each word hammered against his heart. Did his parents really not want them?

"He doesn't mean that," Mrs. Deeks-Brandel ducked down next to him. "Just go to your room, okay?"

Marty moved to flee to his sanctuary, only to be stopped by his father's hand. He wasn't quite sure what happened next. Suddenly he was on the ground with his head throbbing. Brandel lifted him off the ground once more and slammed his head on the doorway again. This time the six-year-old scrambled out of the monster's grip and made it to his bedroom.

"I hate you!" He screamed, tears flowing freely and shielded the door against the advancing animal outside.

* * *

**So, end of first chapter. Reviews are appreciated. And don't be afraid to let me know what events you want to see for the characters!**


	2. Marty Deeks: Get the Gun

**Author's Note:**

**Hope you guys enjoyed the first chapter! Thanks for all the reviews and follows, and please see my note at the bottom :)**

**-C**

**Marty Brandel**

**May 1987**

"Want one?" Ray held out a pack of cigarettes to Marty.

His ten-year-old friend turned his nose up at it. "I hate it when you smoke those things you know. It smells awful."

He shrugged as he lit another one. "They always help me when I've had enough of the bullshit going on."

Marty turned his eyes on his wrist, which had swollen to twice its size. The subject of their conversation for the past ten minutes was war stories from beatings at the hands of drunken parents. He watched as a young couple walked by the beaten down playground, happily pushing their newborn around in a carriage. He envied the innocence that age had brought.

The tiny playground, once a sanctuary, became sad in the past few years. The monkey bars had collapsed and swings rusted over. Much like his and Ray's spirits- victims of a becoming of age story come several chapters too soon.

"If you ever change your mind, I'm sure I can get Brian to buy you some too."

Marty growled, causing Ray to chuckle. It was known that his blond friend had no love for his nineteen-year-old brother. He was a bad influence on Ray.

"Oh, but you'll like what he brought me yesterday." Ray flashed a smile. Looking left and right, he pulled out what looked like a plastic weapon at first. Upon closer inspection, Marty could see that it was the real deal- a real gun in the palm of his friend's hand.

"Put that away!" Marty exclaimed.

"Why? Don't you feel like a total badass?" Ray asked. He stood on top of the bench they were currently occupying and waved it around. "I could go home and get rid of both my parents. I can't believe they got back together. It's only made things worse."

"Ray!" He hissed. "Sit down!"

Ray jumped down from the bunch, pacing back and forth while fingering the trigger. "I thought I got rid of that son of a bitch when he walked out. But now that he's back the beatings have just gotten worse, and my mom just sits back and watches!"

"Come on man, you can't be seen with that!"

His friend ignored his pleas. "Does your dad laugh while hitting you? Mine does. I bet he thinks he's some divine enforcer of righteous punishment." Marty clenched his hands, a cold sweat forming on his palms. "What about your mom? Does she just sit back and watch?"

He had enough. "No, she doesn't! My mom tries to protect me but that monster just pushes her aside!"

"At least she tries," Ray growled. "Does he touch Emily?"

Marty vehemently shook his head. "I don't let him."

"Isn't it her birthday today?"

"Yup. And I don't know how to explain to her that she won't get any presents because daddy spent all the money on booze.'

"Just tell her. You were around her age when the abuse stared anyway."

"No," he protested. "I won't do that to her."

Ray shrugged. "It's your call man. But I stole this from my mom anyway. Maybe she'll like it."

He handed Marty a gold necklace which a small pink pendant dangled from. It was a little mature for somebody who was five; he didn't have anything else. And he was determined to make this a good day for her.

"Thanks."

"We got each other's backs, right?"

Marty clapped him on the shoulder. "Always. I should head home. My mom is taking Emily and I to the beach today."

He scooted down from the bench and began heading home when Ray called back, "You ever give surfing a try?"

The blond shook his head.

"You might want to. It's a, uh," he waved his pack of cigarettes around, "healthier way of forgetting about everything."

Marty turned his back on him and dragged his feet all the way home.

* * *

When he got there, his mom and cousin were already sitting on the front steps, waiting for him.

"Sorry I'm late!" Marty apologized as he tousled Emily's platinum blond hair. He quickly jogged inside to change.

Marty pushed open the door and turned towards the couch- his bed as of three years ago. He pressed himself to the ground, reaching underneath it for the small amount of possessions he owned in a garbage bag.

Once changing into his bathing and tucking the necklace into his pocket, Marty rejoined them outside. The three of them began the long trek to the beach since Brandel had the car with him at whatever bar he went to that day.

* * *

"Come on, Marty!" Emily squealed as soon as their feet touched the first grains of sand. "I'll race you!"

She took off running, ponytail flying out from behind her.

"Are you going to join her?" His mom asked when Marty didn't move.

"Why don't I set up the beach towels and umbrella and you can take her down to the water?"

Mrs. Deeks-Brandel raised her eyebrow, but handed him the towels anyway. "That would be great, thank you honey."

Marty beamed, proud that he was able to take the load off his mom a little bit, however small it was. He spent the next five minutes searching the sand for a comfortable spot that was completely shell free. When the towels were spread out, he settled down and watched the people come and go for a while.

He saw a group of teenage girls moving in pack, giggling and whipping their long hair around. Then he spotted a young girl, about Emily's age, with curly brunette hair tumbling down her shoulders. She was held in between her mother and a regal looking father as they walked down the shore line together, sending sparks of jealousy through Marty's heart. A group of three boys, no older than fifteen, sprinted past him with surfboards under their arms.

Marty immediately rose to his feet, following them all the way down to the water line. He watched intently as they skimmed over waves as if they were experts.

"You ever surf before?" Somebody asked as they came along side Marty.

The blond turned to find a scruffy teen with wild red hair. He shook his head no.

"Well come on, I'll teach you. My name's Danny."

For the next few minutes, Marty tread water as he watched Danny and his friends surf wave after wave all the way into the shoreline. He noted every single detail so he would be ready when it was his turn.

"You think you're ready to try it?" Danny's friend, Will asked.

Marty nodded. Danny handed his board over to him.

"It might be a little big for you. Now, what you want to do is-"

"I want to try it on my own. I think I got the hand of it," Marty interrupted Danny.

He remained motionless on the board until the perfect wave began to swell. Marty dug his feet into it, waiting for the right moment to stand. After what seemed like forever, the wave was upon him.

Marty was wobbly at first but managed to rise all the way up as the motion carried him forward to the shoreline. He felt unsteady at first. Yet a certain calmness filled him from head to toe. The blond began laughing wildly as the shore drew nearer. Suddenly he began shaking left and right, and landed with a splash in the water two feet from the shore line.

Sputtering, Marty broke the surface of the water, picking seaweed out of his shaggy hair. The young girl he saw earlier began laughing at him, her brown eyes bright with humor.

"Come on, baby girl. Time to go home," her father bent down and swung her over his broad shoulders.

"Not bad, Marty. Not bad at all," Danny clapped him over the shoulder.

From afar, he saw his mom and cousin walking up the beach dripping from head to toe towards their stuff. But somebody was there waiting for them.

"I gotta go," he said quickly. "See ya around Danny."

"Something wrong?"

"No," Marty shrugged him off and sprinted towards their things. He could see his father's glowing red eyes from even at this distance.

"Hi Uncle Gordon!" Emily waved enthusiastically. She dove into the sand at his feet.

Brandel made a face, brushing the sand from his jeans.

"I thought you weren't coming home until later," Annie Deeks-Brandel said coldly.

"Pat's sister came knocking. They want to take Emily home with them."

Marty's blood instantly ran cold. Patrick was his dead uncle, also Emily's father. His side of the family lived in Connecticut and expressed interest in adopting Emily since her parents died.

"They flew in all the way from Connecticut? They know we need to get back on our feet before officially adopting her. Pat and Martha left Emily in our custody in their will. Unless-" she broke off on her rant sharply. "You didn't. Gordon tell me you didn't."

"Emily why don't we head home?" Marty didn't wait for a response. He grabbed Emily's hand and pulled her away from his fuming parents.

"What was that about?" She asked as they walked down from the sand and to the street.

"Do you remember Aunt Rita and Uncle Todd?" Marty asked.

"Yeah…"

"Well, how would you like to go live with them for a little while?"

Emily pursed her lips. "But I like living here. I don't want to leave my friends or my big brother."

"Who's your brother?"

"You are silly!" Emily exclaimed.

It felt like a knife was going through his chest. "Well I'm gonna miss my little sister too. But I think you might like living with them more."

She smiled. "If you say so."

Marty's eyes were stinging, and he squeezed Emily's hand tighter. When they reached the house, he pulled out the garbage bag from underneath the couch. He dug out a wrinkled photograph of the two of them when Emily was just a baby. Before the abuse started.

"Happy birthday, Emily."

Her face lit up and she tackled him into a giant hug. "Thank you Marty."

Giving her the stolen necklace didn't feel right anyway.

"Emily, your ride's here," Gordon poked his head through the doorway. He had a wicked grin on his face which chilled Marty to the core.

"Bye Marty!" Emily called and skipped down the front walk to the waiting car.

He saw her aunt and uncle in the front seat, looking at Brandel with evil eyes. Marty knew deep down he wouldn't be talking to Emily anytime soon. Her new guardians hated his father with a passion.

Annie and Marty watched desperately as they drove Emily away without so much as a decent good-bye.

"I'll be back," He growled darkly to his mom.

Marty jogged a familiar route until he came across a familiar trailer door. He knocked a few times, but it went unanswered. At last the person he was looking for came out from the back door.

"What's wrong?" Ray inquired.

"He took _everything _from me!" he screamed and kicked a garbage can. "He gave Emily up! She's gone!"

His friend gently laid a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry man. What do you want me to do?"

"Do you still have that gun handy?" Marty asked without missing a beat.

Ray reached behind a hole in the stairs behind the trailer and handed it to him.

"Next time he touches me or my mom," the blond child fumed. "I'm gonna shoot him. You can count on that."

**So I've received some questions about this story regarding its format. Just to clear it up, each main character will get five to eight chapters. I'm gonna center on the four agents the most with some Eric and Nell. What I want to know from you guys is would you like to see me do a 'trilogy' like thing with this? For instance, this would be Where My Demons Hide: Kensi and Deeks. And then the next one Where My Demons Hide: Callen and Sam? Just let me know by means of reviewing or PM. Thank you all again!**


	3. Marty Deeks: On That Fateful Day

**Author's Note:**

**Um, hello there! Please don't hate me for not updating? I've been having sooo many computer issues and almost lost all of my documents. So yeah, it took a long time to fix long story short. Hope you enjoy the this chapter! Please be warned of the maturish content in this one, as it deals heavily in child abuse. And there's a bit of cursing. By the way- I've decided just to keep all the characters in this one story. Woo. Ok, enough of my rambling- enjoy. AND HUGE SHOUT OUT TO JANICES. YOU ARE AMAZING.**

**-C**

**Marty Brandel**

**February 1988**

It was an unfair game.

His sharpest desire lying within grasping distance, but he could not lift his hand to snatch at it. Teasing, taunting, egging him on. The torture it inflicted on him was unrelenting.

For nine months the gun Marty had obtained from Ray lay in his dresser drawer. After Emily had moved to Connecticut with her aunt and uncle, he had earned to right back to his bedroom. Just thinking of his surrogate sister made him want to go out there and shoot his father all the same. And Marty had been right the day she left: he hadn't heard a word since.

The eleven-year-old shoved the weapon back into his sock drawer and wandered into the rest of the house to find his mother. He paused at the doorway to the kitchen, watching her closely. Her beautiful blond hair had become prematurely streaked with gray, the bags under her eyes permanent. Annie Deeks-Brandel was currently pouring over a newspaper with a pen.

"Watcha doing?"

She jumped and threw the pen down on the paper. His mom visibly relaxed when she saw it was only her son. "Looking for jobs. Somebody needs to have a steady income around here."

Marty sat down next to his mother, scanning over the jobs she had circled. They were all nanny want ads or waitress gigs.

His mom never went to college. In fact, neither did Marty's father. Annie and Gordon were good friends in high school (even though Brandel was two years older) and went to prom with her for Annie's senior year. Two weeks later they were surprised to find she was pregnant. Nine months later they were joined by Marty.

"Hey Mom?"

"Yes, sweetie?"

"What if we moved away from Dad?"

Annie pulled off her reading glasses with a saddened expression. "Marty-"

"Hear me out. We could go to Connecticut. With Emily's new family. We would be away from Dad and we wouldn't have to be afraid anymore."

"We can't leave here."

"Why not!?" Marty cried out loudly. "He beats you! He beats me! Isn't that reason enough to get the hell out of this town!?"

She grabbed his hand. "Someday you'll understand."

"I don't think age makes a difference here," he insisted. "There is no logic to explain why you feel the need to stay here."

"I still love him, Marty," she quietly said. "I'm still riding on the hope that one day everything will go back to the way it was."

He banged his hand on the table. "Wake up! It's not going to!"

"Martin!" Annie exclaimed sharply.

Marty looked away from her disapproving expression, tears stinging his eyes. The shame didn't last long, however, for it was scattered by the sound of the door slamming shut.

"Annie. I need a drink."

Marty's stomach churned with a sense of foreboding. It was the quiet anger he had to fear the most. Yelling he could sit through. But it was this tone that led to the physicality.

Gordon shuffled into the kitchen, eyes already bloodshot. He snarled at the two of them sitting at the kitchen table together.

"Well? Where's my drink?"

Marty looked at his Mom and whispered, "Just give it to him."

"Gordon, we don't have any liquor in the house. You finished it last night."

And there it was. The straw that broke the camel's back.

Gordon swooped towards his wife. He laid a meaty hand firmly over her wrist so Annie had no means of escape. "What. Did. You. Say?"

Marty was frozen in fear as he took several steps back from his parents. He wished his mother would make up some sort of excuse. Anything that would take his father's mind off the missing booze.

Annie flicked her kind blue eyes back towards her son. They were so filled with love and a finality that frightened Marty more than Gordon's impending episode.

"Let go of me," Annie answered with just as much venom. "This problem ends today. Now-"

Brandel yanked her wrist, sending the woman crashing into the tile. Annie cried out, but was quickly silenced by the sharp sound of a slap. Marty crawled next to the end of the counter and covered his ears to block out the ugly chorus of cries. His father began kicking his mom over and over and over again.

Her piercing screams penetrated Marty's feeble attempt to drown them out. And suddenly, they stopped. The white tile was covered with blood, Annie's limp body in the very middle of the pool.

_Oh my god he's going to kill her, _the eleven-year-old thought with horror.

His mom finally stood up to his father. It was his turn.

Marty charged from his corner and barreled into Brandel's study legs. The surprise attack was enough to send both of them toppling over one another- Marty losing all sense of direction in the process. Even in a drunken state, his father recovered faster than he.

Brandel tugged on his hair until they were next to the counter top. He smashed Marty's head into the marble. Then again. Then again. There was a white hot pain in his skull, like an animal clawing to get out. His vision was spotty at best, and for a scary moment, he went blind entirely.

Suddenly the slamming halted and Marty was left bleeding on the floor. He blinked several times, but there were only inky swirls of color. Shaking and crying, Marty crawled in the direction of what he thought was his bedroom.

With each passing second, his vision became clearer. Brandel was standing over his mother, lamp in hand. He smashed it against her too many times for him to count.

_Oh my god he's going to kill us._

Marty scrambled to get up; the overwhelming dizziness sent him sprawling back on the blood-stained floor.

"WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU"RE GOING!?" Brandel roared. He left Annie alone ling enough to grab Marty's ankle and drag him back to the sink.

"Let go of me! Let go of me!"

Marty clawed and kicked, failing to shake the monster's grip. He saw his father reach under the sink, grab a cleaning a solution, and then made a lunge for his hair again.

"You little bastard," Brandel snarled and he gripped his son's jaw. His meaty hands worked to force his mouth open. Marty spat in his face.

Brandel unscrewed the blue liquid and poured it on Marty's face. The blond shut his eyes and lips tight, but it burned everywhere. He sent his arms and legs in a frenzy, looking to hit anything. Anything that would make him stop.

Finally his grip loosened, and Marty took the chance to run.

His eyes were still squeezed shut, as the cleaning solution still burned his skin. Even if he could see, the dizziness would just make him fall again. Marty raced blindly into his bedroom and he threw open his sock drawer. He did not need his sight to find the gun that had been torturing him for months. His small fist closed around the handle.

As he turned to move again, he tripped over something and landed with a hard crash on the ground. Marty barely opened his eyes to see a blurry form of his father in the doorway. The eleven-year-old retreated to the very back of the room as his father advanced.

"Come back here you little son of a bitch!"

"I'm sorry!" Marty sobbed, and clicked the bullet into place. He fired.

Marty kept on pulling the trigger until after the gun clicked empty. He waited for his father to hit him again, but it never came.

The blond risked another glance back to the doorway and saw a mass on the ground. He couldn't move. The pain in his head was growing too much.

The last thing Marty heard before drifting off into darkness were police sirens.

**Marty Brandel**

**March 1988**

_Ten days after the shooting incident_

"Hiya Marty," the now-familiar voice greeted him.

Marty Brandel looked up at the smiling face of Officer William Clayton. As always he was dressed in his newly pressed LAPD uniform and had a bag from his favorite bakery around the block. Every morning since 'that night', Officer Dawson had come by to see him.

The young blond returned his greeting with a small smile, and went back to playing with the Hot Wheels set in the pediatric wing's playroom.

"I brought you an apple turnover," he sang while shaking the paper bag invitingly.

"Thank you Officer Clayton, but I'm not hungry," Marty declined quietly.

"How many times have I told you to call me Will?"

The corner of Marty's mouth twitched with amusement. "A lot."

"That's right. And I have it on good authority that you haven't been eating much. So how about I split this with you?" Will emphasized by inhaling the contents of the bag deeply. "It's still warm."

"I guess an apple turnover sounds alright," Marty admitted.

Smiling now that he had won a small battle with the stubborn child, Officer Clayton reached into the bag, split the turnover in half, and began munching away.

"Are you here to ask me more questions?" Inquired Marty in between bites.

Will brushed the crumbs from his hands. "Yeah. I just gotta straighten a few things out is all."

"Am I in trouble? Because I hurt my dad?"

Officer Clayton's expression turned serious. "Now listen to me closely Marty. You were protecting yourself and your mother. You didn't do anything wrong. We're going to make sure that your dad will never hurt anyone ever again."

"Then why can't I see my mom?"

Will sighed as if he had been avoiding this conversation for a while. "Marty, sometimes when really bad things happen to people, they change a lot. Your mom is sick up here-" Will tapped his black-haired head.

"Is she gonna be okay?"

Will wrapped his arms around the boy, tears stinging his eyes. He had grown quite fond of Mart in the week he had known him. "I hope so, kiddo. I really do."


	4. Marty Deeks: A House is Not a Home

**Marty Brandel**

**March 1988**

"So what's gonna happen now?"

Marty shut his eyes against the sun, wishing he had an answer for Ray. When he opened them, Officer Clayton was waiting at the edge of the playground for him with a sack full of the eleven-year-old's belongings hoisted over his shoulder. Needless to say Will hadn't let Marty back inside the house after the incident.

"My mom was moved to New York to work with a doctor for her PTSD and anxiety. So I'm going into foster care."

Ray frowned deeply. "I haven't heard good things about foster care, man."

"Officer Clayton said I would be alright," Marty protested.

"I don't trust cops."

"Well I believe him."

Without any indication from Officer Clayton, Marty knew it was time to go. He embraced Ray tightly.

"Don't disappear, okay?" Ray asked.

"I promise."

"Good luck Marty."

"You too Ray."

With that, Marty turned away from his best friend and headed towards Officer Clayton, who offered him an encouraging smile. The blond felt a tugging in his gut that drew him back towards Ray…back to what he knew most. Because despite his statement to Ray, Marty still had some doubts about what was yet to come.

"Ready to go, kid?" Will asked as he steered Marty towards his police car.

He shrugged in response, silently slipping into the front seat.

"I promise. I'm taking you to a good place."

Officer Clayton said that about the first foster home. And the second. _And _the third. It happened the same way every single time. He would visit before and after his shift for the first three days, making sure everything was alright. Then the visits would become less frequent as he thought Marty was beginning to adjust to the new home.

But foster homes didn't sit with him like a case of food poisoning.

The first one he shared a room with four other kids with a sleeping bag to call his own. Nightmares began to terrorize him at night because of the eerily familiar situation with his old life. Officer Clayton pulled some strings and got him moved.

The second one didn't last more than two days. Marty ran all the way to the LAPD precinct where Will worked at after the mister came at him with a hammer.

The third one Marty really liked. It was a sweet and gentle old woman who smelled like cats and made the best pies. She had a heart attack two and a half weeks after he moved in.

"I want to move back in with my Mom. I want to go and see her," Marty stated firmly after Officer Clayton moved him from a temporary foster home while Ms. Kartz was in the hospital. They were in the car heading downtown to Will's precinct.

"You can't right now. I'm sorry Marty, I don't know what else to tell you," Will sighed. He looked over at the young boy who was focused on twiddling his thumbs.

He mumbled something incoherently as a response.

"What was that?"

"I said I just want a real home for once!" Marty cried quite abruptly. "I haven't known that in-" his voice broke. "-in so, so long."

Will pulled Marty into his shoulder as the blond sobbed quietly. His thoughts ran a million miles per hour, trying to think of comforting words suitable for this situation. And then suddenly- an idea sprang from a conversation he had earlier in the day.

"I'll be right back," Will said as he stepped out of the cop car.

Marty counted the ticking minutes by the dashboard clock. He was beginning to think that Will had given up on him when he returned to the car, a strange look on his face. The eleven-year-old wanted to ask questions, but he knew the routine by now. Officer Clayton was taking him somewhere else to spend the next few days or weeks.

They drove out of the city and into the suburbs as the sun was beginning to set. Marty wistfully looked out the window to see children running barefoot with their dogs up and down the sidewalk. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't realize Will had stopped the car.

"Here we are," Will said.

Marty followed the police officer's gaze towards a split level home painted bright yellow surrounded by a picket fence.

Usually this was followed by a quick background of the family or how many other kids lived there; Will just got out of the car, grabbed Marty's duffle bag, and proceeded to the front steps. Now more curious than anything, he followed Officer Clayton to the door.

Then he did something even more curious.

He pulled a key out of his pocket and opened the door.

"Rachel!"

Upon hearing Will's voice, an athletic looking woman appeared from around the corner, still polishing silverware. Her short red hair stuck up everywhere as if she had just rolled out of bed with it.

"Welcome home," she grinned, putting the towel and knife on a table so she could give Will a firm kiss.

Officer Clayton was wearing an equally large smile. "Marty, this is my wife Rachel. Welcome home- to _our _home."

Marty's mouth dropped. Then as the situation sank in, his lips twisted into a wicked smile he hadn't worn in years. No more foster homes. No more pain. He was free to run up and down the block- hang out with Ray- was free to be a kid again.

He hugged Will so tightly it would have taken the end of the world to shake him.

**Hey all! So, I'm sorry this is late. More computer problems followed by tryouts and getting summer work done...gah. I need to get my life in order. Anyways, hope you enjoyed, because this is the last we'll see of Deeks for a while. I've decided to switch characters in between childhood, teen, young adult, ect to keep you guys interested. Next character requests?**

**-C**


	5. Kensi Blye: Daddy's Little Girl

**Author's Note:**

**I'm keeping this brief because I don't feel as though this matters much especially for the dedication at the end. So uh, writer's blocks sucks, and I'm injured again so I wrote this over like eight times and I'm not happy with it. But onto more important things.**

**Thirteen years ago, millions of hearts broke in America and around the world for the attack on the World Trade Center, Pentagon, and the flight that went down in Pennsylvania. I was only two and half at the time. And yet every year, standing in silence still has the same wrench in my heart and throat and I feel as though I can't breathe. Thirteen years it has felt this way, and I guarantee it will after another thirteen. My heart truly goes out to the victims and their families. My mom almost died today in 2001. Had it not been my brother's first day of kindergarten, she would have been in the trade center at the time of the attack. **

**Stay strong everyone. Never forget. Never surrender.**

* * *

**Kensi Blye**

**May 1987**

The young girl watched as her mom carefully brushed out her curly brunette hair in the mirror. She squirmed for the billionth time, itching to get out of the yellow dress Julia Blye had managed to force her into her.

"Sit still, Kensi," her mom sighed.

"I don't like dresses," she mumbled.

"You have to look nice for Daddy."

Kensi immediately stilled at the mention of her father's name. Julia pulled part of her hair back and tied it off with a matching yellow ribbon. The four-year-old looked longingly at the overalls and bright green shirt lying on the floor just a few inches away, but her mother was right. She had to look her best for her dad.

A few minutes later, Julia had managed to drag Kensi into the car and drove north towards Los Angeles. Kensi kept on glancing at the dashboard clock from the backseat, counting down the minutes until her father's plane landed. It seemed like forever, but they were finally watching the plane land on the tarmac from the car.

"Is that Daddy?"

"Yep, here he comes!"

Kensi watched as the plane began slowing down, stopping roughly a thousand yards from their car. She craned her neck through the open window, but could not pinpoint her dad among the dozens of men coming off the plane. To make matters worse- all of them were still in uniform.

"I can't see him!" she complained dramatically.

"Wait just a minute sweetie."

Kensi huffed, sinking back into her seat. The men started to clear away to their awaiting families or to the bus. Finally, she saw a tall man walking in stride with somebody Kensi didn't recognize. She could see his raven hair underneath his cover, the smile she knew so well.

"There he is," Julia pointed.

Kensi didn't wait another second. She unbuckled herself from the car seat and flung open the door.

"Kensi!"

She sprinted down the pavement as fast as she could- pumping her arms as if an Olympic athlete. Her father's deep laugh reached her ears even at that distance. Kensi finally got close enough, and jumped into her dad's strong arms.

"Daddy!" she cried, burying her smiling face into his shoulder.

"I missed you baby girl," he said, planting a firm kiss to her mop of curly hair.

"I missed you too, Dadddy."

Her father held her tight for another minute or two before finally setting her down. The big, Hispanic man standing next to Donald Blye chuckled.

"This is my daughter," the marine sniper commented.

Kensi stuck out her hand bravely, smiling wide at the stranger. He shook it with a surprising gentleness.

"Nice to meet you," he said.

"You too!" she bubbled. Kensi then reached for her father's own hand and didn't let it go. It felt surreal having him home again.

"Good work," the stranger clapped Donald Blye on the shoulder.

"It was a joint effort."

"In speaking of which, I have something for you."

The stranger held out something for Donald Kensi couldn't see. She tried to peer around his shoulder, but he turned his back to her as he examined the object.

"Nice knife. One of yours, I'm assuming?"

"Only the best for the best."

Donald chuckled.

Not knowing what they were talking about and eager for the promised trip to the beach after, Kensi began tugging on her father's hand.

"I'll be seeing you soon then," Donald bid farewell.

"Enjoy the time you have home," the man smiled, maybe a little sadly. He waved one last time to Kensi before turning away from them.

"Easy there baby girl," Donald laughed, but let his daughter pull on him.

"Kensi! I told you to stay in the car!" Julia admonished once they drew closer.

"It's quite alright, Julia," he assured, pulling his wife in for a kiss. "I missed you."

Kensi watched as all the wrinkles and weariness from her mother's face vanished. Julia hugged Donald back tightly.

"Are we still going for a family beach day?" Kensi asked, waiting for them to pull apart.

Donald laughed, "Always the pushy one, aren't you?" He kissed Julia and Kensi one more time and hauled his bag over his shoulder. "Let me change out of my uniform first, okay?"

Ten minutes later they were on the road to the beach. Although it took almost forty five minutes because of traffic, Kensi easily filled that time by babbling on and on about kindergarten. Her father listened intently to every detail as if it were crucial details concerning a mission.

When they finally found a parking spot near the beach, the first thing the reunited family did was buy a couple of ice-cream cones from a cart. Although it was sprinkled with sand and tasted salty, it was the best ice-cream Kensi had in a while. Cones finished, the three of them walked hand and hand down the coast, talking about everything and anything.

Just when their time at the beach was drawing to an end, Julia asked the question that had been looming over their perfect day.

"How long will you be home?"

Kensi looked to her father expectantly.

"Kensi why don't you try to find a nice shell for your mom?" Donald suggested.

Confused, she uneasily stepped away from her parents and wandered around the beach. She sat herself down in the sand picking through shells watching as other kids ran by. Soon the shell was forgotten when she spotted several teenagers surfing to the shore. Kensi wanted to try it too, and longed for her bathing suit.

She looked over at her parents, whom seemed to be in an intense conversation. Kensi knew the look on their faces all too well. They were talking about Daddy's work.

Kensi stood up, ready to ask her mom and dad what was wrong, when the surfers attracted her gaze again. This time it was a much younger boy riding the board as if he were born to. She watched as he took a tumble into the ocean.

He quickly resurfaced, wet blond hair clinging to his face and baby blue eyes staring through his locks. Kensi found herself laughing as the boy picked seaweed out of his hair, but was quickly torn away.

"Time to go home, baby girl," her father came and scooped her up.

Giggling, Kensi forgot all about her parents' private conversation, and just relished in the fact that her dad was now safely home.

_**In loving memory of those who lost their lives on September 11th, 2001. Praying for the families, first responders, and infinite amount of true heroes that rose up on that day.**_


	6. G Callen: Broken

**Author's Note:**

**Hey all. Um, so I realize I kinda disappeared for a while. Well- these past few weeks have been extremely tough for me with family things and stuff like that. Oh yeah, can't forget about the all-forgiving school load. Anyways.**

**I'm working on updating more regularly. I'm sorry I haven't been better at it!**

**Just a quick note- yes, I realize that Kensi only had one chapter- SO FAR. There wasn't much else I could write about her early childhood. We'll see more of her in the teen years. Alright, anyways, here we go onto Callen's story. Yes- trigger warning for abuse.**

**G. Callen**

**June 15 1980**

The ten-year-old boy remained quiet in the backseat of the car as the social worker pulled up in front of the house. It was a modest, two story farm house with a large backyard and several large vehicles parked in the dirt driveway. This was his ninth- no, tenth foster home since he was five. Although he had never stayed anywhere for long, the system kept on putting him back in the orphanage for…behavioral reasons. In and out, in and out. Was stability too much for a young boy to ask?

"We're here," his social worker said bluntly. He was an unpleasant, middle-aged man who hated dealing with the particular child in the backseat.

G raised his piercing blue eyes barely above the door to see out the open window. The couple he now was living with stood on the porch waiting for him. He pulled his red baseball cap down, further shadowing his face.

"C'mon! Let's go!"

He obeyed the harsh tone with the speed it demanded. He reached across the seat, grabbed his duffle bag, and let himself out of the car. The social worker, Mr. Reed, gave the family a short nod before speeding off as fast as he could.

Callen assessed the situation before him. The McFiersons. The mister looked bored and uninterested in the new arrival. In fact, he seemed to be looking at the chipped paint job on the railing more than G. However the woman offered him a wide, encouraging smile.

She was going to be a friend. He was not.

"You think he's dumb in the head?" McFierson said to his wife, loud enough for G to hear. Realizing he hadn't moved from his spot, he glared indignantly at him and marched his way down the path and up the creaking stairs.

"You must be G, right?" the missus asked. "I'm Patty and this is Robert."

"Hi," he mumbled under his breath.

"Speak up when you talk to us," Robert berated him.

"Oh he's just shy honey," Patty said. "Why don't you come inside? I can show you your room while the casserole finishes up in the oven."

G took her offer, shuffling into the living room. He took in all of the surroundings, taking note of every little thing. Family portraits on the wall told him they didn't have any children of their own. His covert snooping was interrupted by Patty placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Come on then," she said smiling.

G followed her up the rickety stairs and into a small side bedroom. It felt more like a hotel room than someplace where he was going to call home. Then again- that's how it always felt in a new place. The neatly-made bed was pushed up against the wall, closet empty, not a speck of desk on the wood floors. Even the wallpaper was precise with no rips or smudges.

"I'll give you a few minutes to get settled before dinner, okay?"

He only offered a small nod.

As soon as Patty left him alone, he set to work. G hopped on his bed and stomped on it a few times, just to make it look slept in before. He then ripped open his duffle bag and emptied its contents in the dresser, in the closet, on the floor. His various knick knacks soon found a home on the bedside table, his sneakers under the bed.

"Comfortable?"

G whipped around to find Robert McFierson. The question certainly wasn't pleasant, his posture threatening. He was leaning up against the doorframe, lip curled in a snarl.

He immediately narrowed his eyes at the adult. Already in his life, G had encountered too many people like him. Unsure of how to further the conversation, he nodded.

"Then get downstairs. Supper's on the table."

G shakily squeezed past McFierson and scooted down the stairs as if his new foster dad was chasing him. He slid in socked feet across the tile and next to Patty McFierson as she pulled the casserole out of the oven, waiting to be told what to do.

It took Patty a moment after putting the casserole on top of the stove to realize what he was waiting for. "Oh honey, you don't have to help with anything. Why don't you get something to drink and take a seat? I think I may have some lemonade in the fridge there."

The corner of G's mouth twitched into a smile. He got the lemonade out of the fridge and poured himself a glass, but kept his eye on the missus in case she changed her mind. She didn't seem to care when he took one sip of the lemonade, gulped down the rest, and then refilled the glass all the way again. It was one of the best things he had in weeks.

Maybe this place wouldn't be so bad after all.

But then G caught the look that McFierson shot him as he pushed him aside to pull a beer out of the fridge.

* * *

"Now you want to make sure that you pick the tomatoes every day or so. Otherwise the vine will become overripe," Patty McFierson said sweetly, wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her gardening glove.

"Are these good?" G asked, showing her two plump, red tomatoes.

"Yes they are," she beamed. "Don't forget to pick some of the greenish ones too. Tomatoes can ripen off the vine."

G picked a few more, placing them carefully in the basket. Patty used her sunhat to fan herself before saying, "I think that's enough for today. Why don't we go inside and I'll make us some lemonade?"

G grinned, carrying the basket of fresh produce with him as he followed Patty inside.

It had been about a week since he first arrived in his new home. As long as he avoided Robert, made sure he did his chores, and kept to himself when he was forced to tag along to their trucking business, he was okay with where he was living.

He had barely set the tomatoes on the counter when suddenly the front door slammed open. G could smell the short-temperedness from Robert McFierson before he could verbally announced himself.

"Patty!"

"Something wrong, honey?"

"We have a problem with one of the employees down at the business. They've been getting overpaid for hours they haven't worked."

Patty frowned. "I have all the time logs in the ledger."

"I couldn't find them. Look, he's done listening to me."

"Alright. I'll head over there and take care of things. Why don't you and G start making some sandwiches for lunch?"

Patty grabbed a set of car keys and her purse and set out the front door.

G swallowed a growing lump in his throat. He needed the three more hours it would normally take for McFierson to get home for him to finish the chores he was assigned by him. He had been helping Patty with her gardening all day- he hadn't had the time yet.

G silently reached for the bread in the drawer and went to go find the jelly in the fridge. He had two seconds to search for it when something slammed the refrigerator door in front of his face.

G glanced up to see McFierson standing above him.

"Did you do what I asked you to do?"

He mumbled his response.

"Speak. Up!" McFierson blew spit in G's face.

"I said I haven't had the time yet."

"And why's that?"

"I was helping Patty with the gardening."

McFierson hissed. "Gardening? Don't you know that's a woman's work!? Gardening!? Bah!"

Just when G thought Robert would leave him alone, he pinched his ear and dragged him out the side door, cursing at him all the way. G tried to smack his hands away, but McFierson's grip was too strong. He was pulled to one of the smaller trucks that was temporarily parked in the dirt driveway, the back door open.

"I told you to sweep this out!" He yelled, shoving G into the rear end of the vehicle.

More afraid than feeling defiant, the ten-year-old scrambled up and into the bay of the truck. Looking for a broom to sweep it with.

"Oh, here, I have your broom," McFierson snarled. He picked something up along side the truck and climbed up there with G, cornering him.

In a flash, G had collapsed to the truck floor, clutching his ribs and gasping for air. McFierson dropped the broom, the end now separated from the bristle ends.


End file.
